


wait for me

by lafortuna



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Bottom Isaac Lahey, Consensual Underage Sex, Domestic, First Time, France (Country), Gay Isaac Lahey, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Isaac Lahey is in France, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Masturbation, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Top Chris Argent, Underage Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-30
Updated: 2020-10-30
Packaged: 2021-03-08 22:02:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,139
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27273883
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lafortuna/pseuds/lafortuna
Summary: when isaac is alone he can't stop the waking dreams.there was a point when he was used to them. little things would stir them up - women screaming, the turning over of an engine, the tight quarters of a small room. the world was full of landmines, and isaac learned to watch his step. now there are new bombs, new reminders.a woman's laugh, long dark hair, specific shades of pink.isaac hadn't been in love with allison. they kissed, and they talked, and she would touch him and he would explore her - but it wasn't the kind of love in fairy tales. it was a mutual appreciation, two people who had lost things and found each other, unsure of what they wanted but taking what they could for the moment. he never thought she'd be lost, too.he slips back into bed, shakes the crumbs from the end of his duvet, and goes back to sleep.it's easier to have nightmares when you're asleep.
Relationships: Chris Argent/Isaac Lahey
Comments: 6
Kudos: 30





	wait for me

the first few weeks are nightmares in separate rooms.

chris pays upfront for a few months on a month-to-month lease, no questions asked. they walk into a little flat on the top floor, over a shop and in a building that looks like it jumped out of a children's cartoon. they're in normandy, chris says, and isaac can't pronounce the name of the town yet no matter how many times the man says it.

the beds are stiff. and small. he's grown used to the space and warmth of the mccall's extra bedroom, to a goodnight wish before he falls asleep. now he curls up only a few hours after creeping out of bed and he falls into pieces until he pastes them together to sleep. sometimes chris brings him food. bread and cheese and some wine. it's very french.

they eat in silence. smile at each other from across the skinny mattress. traffic noises float up from the street below, footsteps from flats next door, voices in the language isaac doesn't know.

chris clears their shared plate and he's gone, somewhere else in the flat without any noise to tell isaac where he is. isaac's alone.

when he's alone he can't stop the waking dreams.

there was a point when he was used to them. little things would stir them up - women screaming, the turning over of an engine, the tight quarters of a small room. the world was full of landmines, and isaac learned to watch his step. now there are new bombs, new reminders. 

a woman's laugh, long dark hair, specific shades of pink.

isaac hadn't been in love with allison. they kissed, and they talked, and she would touch him and he would explore her - but it wasn't the kind of love in fairy tales. it was a mutual appreciation, two people who had lost things and found each other, unsure of what they wanted but taking what they could for the moment. he never thought she'd be lost, too.

he slips back into bed, shakes the crumbs from the end of his duvet, and goes back to sleep.

it's easier to have nightmares when you're asleep.

\--- 

isaac forgets to count the days after a while. he got to twenty-five before he forgot one, and then another, and now he isn't sure how long they've been in france.

chris leaves sometimes. he doesn't tell isaac where he's going and locks the door behind him, takes the only key. isaac lays in bed and thinks of all the things he can do while chris is gone.

he could take a long shower, hot and steamy enough to clear his head. he could sing as loud as he wants to the radio, some of the stations play american music. he can clean up, sweep the kitchen and wipe down the fridge, show chris how much he appreciates the work he does. by the time he's made a plan, chris is home and isaac is still in bed.

sometimes chris sits on the edge of isaac's bed. he pretends to sleep mostly, but it doesn't stop chris from pushing back his curls and watching him, steady breath wilting over isaac's shoulder. his fingers linger at the base of his skull and isaac can usually drift off into real sleep with their pressure there. 

"get up," chris finally demands. it must be past day forty, at least, if isaac can take a guess. "don't make me ask again."

"you didn't ask the first time," isaac grumbles back, drags the duvet up over his head. it's snatched off of his body in a startling instant, the air all cold and sharp around him. "i'm sleeping! leave me alone." 

"no, get up, go shower. it's been weeks, and you stink, and you're not going to wallow anymore." chris has folded the duvet and set it on the end of the bed. he walks the parameter of the room, wipes layers of dust off the desk and opens isaac's suitcase. by the time isaac has moaned and groaned until he's sitting up, chris has chosen a shirt and jeans for him and tosses them into isaac's lap. "there are towels in the bathroom."

\---

they start with french lessons. isaac isn't very good, and chris isn't very patient.

"you need to get this," chris urges isaac, taps his pen against the table in angry punctuation. "i know you're smarter than this, isaac. you need to focus."

isaac stares down at his measly notes, scribbles over them intensely, grits his teeth. his blood is pumping, that tight and hot thud that comes before he loses control. chris thinks he owns isaac, thinks he can control what isaac does next. he made isaac think he wanted to be here, swept him away like he was some kind of hero, some kind of dad. some kind of dad. 

"isaac!" chris snaps, and the table goes flying across the kitchen.

chaos, for just a second. isaac's going to rip chris' throat out, all dripping fangs and razor sharp claws. they scramble, they fight. chris is dense and strong, isaac fast and thin. 

"you don't know how it feels!" isaac rumbles, swipes at chris, could kill him.

and then chris' hands are around isaac's throat, their faces are less than an inch apart; isaac's back has been slammed against the nearest wall. the hotel paintings rattle on their hooks and hot breath mingles between their lips, isaac's eyes searching and chris' eyes tight and glaring.

"i hope you never know what it's like to lose a daughter," he hisses, and spit lands on isaac's mouth. "i hope you never lose anyone ever again." 

isaac is just a boy under chris' hand, fingers prying at his palms, eyes blue and wild. he tries to beg, but his throat is so tight he can't breathe let alone speak. crying hurts, but the tears streak his cheeks even as he chokes on the noise of them.

when chris lets go isaac finds his legs weak and he crumples, like an apostle at the feet of christ, wrapped around chris' ankles. "i'm sorry," he wheezes. "i'm sorry, i didn't mean to. it's - i'm sorry, chris." his body shivers as he begs forgiveness, fingers wrap tight in the hems of chris' jeans. he's never used his dad as an excuse before, not seriously. not when he's fucked up so hugely. it's a joke - poor little boy trapped in a freezer, of course he's an asshole. he'd never kill chris. he'd never. 

"i know - isaac, get up." chris' voice is soft. he slowly crouches, maneuvers his knees around isaac's shaking shoulders. "hey. i know. i shouldn't yell at you like that… i'm sorry, too."

they stay like that. all hunched around each other, a pile of loss and fear. chris rubs soft circles around isaac's spine, lays the side of his face in his clean curls. they don't have to say anything, and isaac doesn't tell chris that he's so hard it hurts.

\---

everything is a little easier after that. 

there's some semblance of a routine, a life. chris has a job. isaac doesn't know what it is but he's gone for a few hours a day and he always has money. isaac does dishes, rearranges the furniture, hangs curtains. every day he tries to find a small task to thank chris, and to apologize.

chris hasn't mentioned isaac's explosion, not once. it's another thing isaac has to be thankful for. 

there is always a fear in isaac lahey. his stone face and his quick laugh hide it, and his jokes and his feigned apathy. but it's settled in his veins, thrums through him constant and reliable. sure, he's scared of raised voices and small spaces, but it's more than that. it's the fear of becoming something undeniable. of losing control. of balled fists landing where he loves most, of teeth ripping blood that should not be spilt. 

isaac would do anything not to be his father. 

chris was such a good dad. 

allison had her complaints, and isaac listened to them. isaac never told her how much he would give to have a dad like chris, but he thinks she knew. in the way her eyes softened at his stories, the way her fingers pressed through his hair.

it's the same way chris' fingers feel in his hair.

isaac doesn't know how to excommunicate the memory of his cock hard as ever, all because of chris' hands around his throat, and he isn't sure he wants to. he spent the whole night pumping as many orgasms out as he could at the thought of it, trying to make the heat from chris' mouth permanent in his mind. the shame in the morning was worth it.

but while the memories did fade, the shame did not. 

so isaac does the dishes, and he rearranges the furniture, and he hangs curtains.

"were you and allison…" it's the first time chris has said her name since they got to france. he looks over his dinner, fork delicately touching his plate and at the ready to move onto the next bite instead of the next word. "dating? were you - "

"no," isaac supplies, his own napkin already covering the few bites left of his meal. "no, we - well, we… wow."

chris' smile is sly, like it often is, and he lets his fork rest. "it's okay, i asked."

"we kissed. but… i dunno. she was like a sister." isaac doesn't know what it's like to have a sister, but he imagines it was like allison. all trust and shared secrets. "i guess that makes you my dad."

isaac hasn't made chris laugh in a long time, and when he chuckles deep and amused it fills him with pride. that's the opposite of shame, isn't it? he watches chris' eyes sparkle, his knuckles flex as he goes back to eating. his voice is low and amused when he mutters "your dad," over again, laughs a little more. 

isaac does the dishes.

\---

"do i do enough?" 

"what?"

chris has informed isaac that he's old enough to not only purchase, but drink beer in france. and wine. isaac was promptly sent to the local shop to purchase both, his fancy new (and only slightly illegal) identification card finally in use.

upon return he finds chris on the floor of the kitchen, table pushed to the wall. around him is an assortment of wooden pieces big and small, and a countless number of screws and other metal bits. the ripped box has a picture of a desk on it, and isaac has no idea where chris is going to fit it in the flat.

"why are you asking me that?" isaac puts the beer and wine on the counter, pulls down a glass to pour some red for chris. chris has that look that's between troubled and angry on his face, confused by isaac's questioning. "i could have gone to the store." 

"no, i just…" isaac fiddles with the label of the cold beer, rolls the wet paper into tiny pills. "i can put the desk together. or, i dunno, i could get a job?"

"do you want a job?" chris has gone to work, skillfully screwing pieces together. "you can get a job if you want. your visa is a work visa, so… if anyone asks, you already have a job." isaac snorts. he gets chris' attention and waves one of the bottles a little, questions him with a raise of his brows. "yes, son, you can have a beer."

son. chris has been calling him son, lately. it's supposed to be an inside joke, but it's weird. isaac doesn't want to offend him, and he likes that it makes chris smile, so he doesn't say it's weird. but it's really weird. and a little hot. he brings chris his wine, smiles at his grateful bow of the head, and settles into one of the kitchen chairs with his beer. 

"i guess i just want you- or, i want- i don't know. i'm just glad to be here," isaac's sense of self floats away a little. he'd found some of it walking to and from the shop - a kid not quite a man, traumatized but he's doing better, thankful for a friend, probably gay. but in one jumble of a sort-of-sentence he's forgotten all of it, he's just an idiot.

chris is quiet as he works, so isaac stays quiet too. he slugs his beer, and then sips it because it makes his stomach slosh. when chris runs out of wine isaac pours him a second glass. the desk is half done before chris clears his throat and leans on his work to look across the kitchen at isaac.

"i like you here," he says, and isaac stares. quiet again. much shorter this time. "i've always liked having you around."

isaac is an idiot. "oh."

"and not hard on the eyes, either."

or is he? "oh."

\---

chris installs doors for their bedrooms.

it's wildly, intoxicatingly embarrassing. 

they don't say why, neither of them. isaac doesn't ask, chris doesn't offer.

but they can hear each other at night.

isaac hears chris cry. even with a pillow pressed tightly to his face to muffle them he can hear the doleful sobs. and isaac hears chris hum to himself, and make mental notes out loud, and pretend to know how to tap dance, and jerk off his cock when he thinks isaac is asleep.

so of course, chris can hear isaac, too.

isaac swears chris flushes pink when he says, "lot more privacy." 

\---

with a door to hide himself isaac is insatiable. 

the internet says it's normal for sixteen year olds to jerk off five times a day, but it feels decidedly abnormal. everything sets him off. he gets his shirt wet cleaning the bathroom and it's warm and nice and he jerks it. he watches a pair of joggers go down the street shirtless and he's got to imagine one of them pounding into him, hump a pillow until he stains it. chris tells him goodnight, ruffles a hand in his hair, and isaac slicks his hand with spit and fucks into it.

it gets kinda boring.

chris is at work. 

isaac has no reason to be hard, but he is. he sighs, like it's a chore, and rubs his hand up and down the hardon outlined by his sweats. "jesus," he whispers, just to himself, just so it isn't just the quiet tv making noise. he's alone, so he can go slow. just up, down, rub at the tip until there's a dark stain in the grey of his crotch. 

chris is due back in… twenty minutes? ish. 

isaac untucks his cock and swipes his palm up and over the head, lolls his head back on the couch, takes deep breaths as he spreads the precum over himself. "okay," he decides, and leans off of the couch to go to his room. that's the respectful thing to do.

he closes the door, and he sits on the edge of the bed, and he cranks it - and he stops. it's boring. it's gonna take him forever to think of something entertaining enough to make him cum, and when he does it'll be forced and lackluster. a sigh turns into a big puff out of his loose lips, and he tucks his cock away, even though it's hard.

he can be fast if it's exciting. isaac's hand hovers over the doorknob, and he opens it a crack, and then a little wider. he can just barely see the front door. he can be fast.

isaac lays back on his bed in a flash and wiggles his sweats down off his ass, cock popping out and swaying. eyes on the door. he has to be fast. he pumps a few times and it's hot and the friction sparks, and he leans over to pump lotion into one hand and gets to it. quick, quick, quick, oh god, if chris catches him. if chris walks through that door - eyes on the door - and catches isaac, in clear view, oh fuck he'd die. the shame would never go away. the fear would blossom bigger, brighter, hotter in his stomach until it was all he is.

he swears he's going to cum harder than he ever has, going to explode all over his chest, get it in his mouth and lick it off his lips. but it's taking forever, "come on," eyes on the door. pump, pump, pump his cock faster and harder, almost violent, trying to rip the building, searing orgasm out of him.

eyes on the door. it opens. 

their eyes meet. 

isaac slams his door shut and falls onto his bed face down, cock still throbbing, mind still lost enough that as he groans in utter despair he can't help but rub against his mattress.

he can hear chris' keys jingling as he hangs them. heavy footsteps. his bedroom door opening.

no, he can't hear that.

"isaac?" 

isaac whips over onto his back and drags his blankets over himself. 

"i'm so sorry! i don't know what i was-" chris sits on the side of isaac's bed. "i - i'm - i need -..." but chris is smiling at isaac soft and sweet, and isaac trails off in confusion. 

one of chris' hands finds isaac's thigh, laid on it with the blanket between them. he scoots closer, and chris' thigh touches isaac's, and isaac's cock twitches. then chris' hand is under the blanket, and then it's on isaac's dick, and then it's stroking him up and down.

their eyes meet. eyes on chris. he pumps isaac like he has experience, pulls the blanket away so he can watch him, so isaac looks too. chris' hand is huge on his cock, the thumb swipes over the head every other slick or so, drags precum into the lotion already there. his arm flexes with each movement, isaac follows the limp up to chris' throat and to his jaw and to his parted, wet lips.

"you're so hot," isaac breathes, bucks into chris' hand, reaches for him. 

"shhh," chris pauses and isaac whines. he whines low and desperate and bucks again, begs. "shhhh, isaac. be a good boy." chris waits patiently while isaac squirms, and it isn't until he's still again that he works him. "there you go."

"i'm gonna cum," isaac whimpers, and chris' hand stops again. "no - no, no, please." isaac props up on his elbows and begs some more, but then his mouth is occupied by chris'. they kiss, and kiss, and kiss. isaac's mouth is sloppy wet by the end, chris' spit hot on him, the memory of him slamming back. "please touch me," he begs, but then chris slides away and stands at the side of the bed.

"get undressed," he says sternly. "i'll be right back."

and he's gone. 

isaac does as he's told. he strips his shirt off and tosses it, and then gets up onto his knees and slides his sweats down. falls back on his bare ass to drag them off his legs and drop them on the floor. chris is back by the time isaac's laying back down on his back.

"on your stomach, isaac," so isaac does. he can't see chris, now, and he ruts into the mattress and there's a sudden, swift snap on his bare ass. he cries out and it's muffled by the pillow in his mouth. "did that hurt?"

"no," isaac lies, cock settled in a fresh wet spot on the bed. 

"good," isaac hears chris' belt clink. "why was your door open when i came in?"

isaac's breath drags in and out into the pillow, leaves a new wet spot.

"because… i forgot to close it."

isaac's vision explodes in sparkling white as a pain jolts from his ass up his spine, into his ribs, grips his throat. he can already feel the welt forming on one asscheek, angry and red. there's supposed to be… isaac's read about this. safe, sane, consensual. he's never asked for this - but he doesn't move. he's leaking into the mattress steady, ready for the next lashing.

"that's not why. why was your door open?"

"because i thought… because the idea of being caught turned me on." 

another lash, isaac cries out. his ass lifts with the pain, cock throbs and twitches so violently it taps his stomach, drips a solid stream of precum onto the sheets. 

"why was your door open?"

"i wanted you to see me!" isaac waits for the next whip but it doesn't come. chris' hand is gentle on his ass, rubs at the lumps he's caused in slow circles. he parts isaac's cheeks and runs his finger over his hole and isaac groans guttural, animalistic. "i wanted you to see me getting myself off," he offers in hopes of more of this treatment. chris' finger is wet as it slides slow into isaac, the reward isaac hadn't even dreamed of. "i've wanted you to see me the whole time. i knew you could hear me. i knew you wanted to."

chris spreads isaac's hole until he can fit two fingers in. "have you ever been fucked before, son?" he asks politely, scissoring his fingers until he can lift a second hand and slide a third in, force isaac open wide. 

"no," isaac admits breathlessly, only enough strength in him to keep his ass in the air. his arms are limp, head tilted just to the side so he can breathe. this isn't a lie, he doesn't have the capacity to do that either. he thought derek was going to fuck him, their mouths all over each other one night, but it ended as abruptly as it began and they never spoke of it. he and scott never got so far, shy creatures padding at each other's dicks in the middle of the night. 

"good." chris has four fingers in isaac's asshole now, two from each hand spreading him open, stretching him until isaac yelps in pain. he slips two out and isaac whines so pathetically that real tears spring to his eyes. "you want me to, though, don't you?"

"yes sir. yes, please," isaac hisses, presses his ass backwards onto chris' hand. 

"good," chris replies once more, and isaac is left empty and gaping. "stay put." 

isaac can only hear chris. he thinks it's his jeans, but there's no soft plop of them being dropped. then a wet, squishing sound and isaac finally lifts his head to peek. he isn't reprimanded for this, gets to eye chris wetting his own beautiful cock with lube. he stares, mouth still ajar against his pillow, at chris and the gigantic mass of dick about to be shoved into his ass. it's big like big cocks are in reality, not porn or sex toy websites. that perfect size that makes isaac crazy with need.

"sit up, isaac," chris soothes, runs his sticky hand down isaac's spine. isaac finds the mercy to do so, and chris climbs into the bed and sits at the head of it, back against the wall. he carefully slides his legs between isaac's and then beckons him in. "come here. in my lap." 

isaac crawls forward and finds he fits right in chris' lap, their cocks slid up against each other both wet and scalding hot. chris' fingers creep around behind isaac and into his hole again, just two slid in him as isaac rocks. 

"just like that, you're good at this," chris promises. "rock like that. here. let's try it." 

the fingers are gone and chris' hand gets between them, and then isaac knows it's the tip of his cock against his ass even with his head lolled back. he decides to look once chris is kissing his chest, sucking needily at isaac's nipples, and once their eyes meet again chris guides himself into isaac. just a bit at a time, each inch giving way to another startled, fragile noise in isaac's throat. slow, slow, until isaac is sitting flat on chris' lap with his own cock on the man's stomach, chris' buried to the hilt in his ass.

"just like before, isaac," chris breathes, and finally isaac hears a roughness in it. a hitch. "come on. come on, son." so isaac does. it doesn't hurt like he's heard it's supposed to. all he knows is fullness and the tortuous drag of the head of chris' cock. "a little faster."

but isaac isn't sure he can go faster. he rocks as steady as before for a moment, and then peers down at chris with an anxious gaze. when he tries the rhythm goes jerky, fails as his own cock throbs, as he gets inside his head. 

"i'm sorry," he chokes, and chris growls as he drags isaac in by the waist. chris can hold isaac's hips in his hands and guide him, digs his ankles in so he pumps his cock up into the boy, makes isaac's dick bounce and smack against their stomachs with utter disregard. "please. please fuck me hard," isaac begs, and all the memory of chris' hands around his throat come flooding forward.

chris just uses one at first, thumb tucked neatly under isaac's adam's apple and middle finger digging into the back of his neck. isaac doesn't need chris' shared rhythm like this, smacks his ass up and down on chris' cock like an expert. so chris uses two hands, wraps them tight around isaac's throat and drags him down so his back is arched and their mouths meet.

isaac moans wildly, broken only when chris squeezes, and suddenly really knows why they call it riding cock. every snap bucks him, his thighs ache with the effort, his poor throbbing cock is forgotten between them. chris moves to mouthing at isaac's jaw, any uncovered part of his throat, gives him time to breathe while he sucks on his nipples and leaves them red and pert. 

"let me show you something," chris grunts, takes isaac by the waist again and flips them. his cock slides out of isaac entirely and isaac wails for it, but chris has him turned onto his stomach in and instant and he's back inside of him. he drags isaac's ass into the air and drives into him unforgivingly, every stroke slamming into isaac's prostate and dragging ragged cries from the boy. "you want it hard, right? you want to hurt?" 

"yes sir!" isaac sobs, and chris does not disappoint. he pins isaac's chest to the mattress with one hand, digs his fingers into his ass with the other. he smacks him, and then again, and again, over and over until isaac is weeping into the damp pillows. once isaac's ass is cherry red chris takes those pretty curls in his hand and drags his head back, curves isaac's spine so when his cock finds his spot he can hear isaac scream. "i'm cumming! i'm cumming, oh god, oh jesus fuck!" 

and isaac is, without warning or permission, exploding onto the mattress below them. he drains semen hot and sticky, more and more, longer and more fervent with each pump. it's still going as chris lets go of his head and isaac goes limp against the bed, still throbbing and leaking and leaving streaks and puddles of cum as chris takes isaac's hips and slams his cock deep into him again and again.

"you're my boy, isaac, you're mine. no one else will ever fuck you like this, just your daddy. just me. fuck, your tight fucking hole is so hot, baby, i'm gonna fill you til you leak," chris babbles, dark and grunting and gravelly. isaac is still crying, sniffling, still twitching as chris does just as he says and his cock throbs inside isaac's ass. his orgasm is a burst of heat, of wet and mess filling isaac's hole. he wants it everywhere - in his mouth and on his cock and in his ass and on his chest. he wants to taste it, for it to spill out of every hole he's got, and chris provides at least part of the wish as he slides his cock slow, slow out of isaac's ass and lets himself gives a few pumps with each inch.

cum drips down isaac's balls, finds its way to his thighs. the puddles under his stomach are settling into him, still warm as isaac grinds his languishing cock into them. 

chris flops to the side of isaac, and they breathe. not in time, no need for any rhythm or shared motion. once their chests rise and fall easy again chris turns to his side and adjusts isaac, messy as he is, until he can kiss him deep. slow. a kiss that isn't of circumstance, but of passion. the kind that slows until they're barely kissing, pecking at each others' softened lips, unwilling to part but exhausted by their fervor. 

"i love you, isaac," chris offers, and isaac only eyes him cautiously in return. "come on, let me clean you up. we can sleep in my bed." 

\---

isaac wakes up alone one morning. he wakes up as late as he usually does, almost into the afternoon with the sun warming him until he kicks off the sheets. chris's bed is so much more comfortable than his own, but alone it's foreign and unusual. 

he's woken in the bed plenty of times, now. often invited, sometimes he asks. he's grown used to chris' steady heartbeat against his ear, to chris sliding out of bed early, to chris returning near noon to be there when isaac wakes.

today he's alone. 

he slips out and puts on pants (trousers), goes to find his friend (boyfriend). the flat is so still. 

in his own room the bed has been… taken? put away. sold, maybe. in any case it's gone, and isaac's anxiety drips down his throat and settles into his stomach. "chris?" he calls, as he ventures in and back out in a circle. it takes just a glance to see the kitchen and living room are both empty, the bathroom door is open and light off. 

he calls for chris again, double checks the bedroom he woke in, pads back over into his bedroom with no bed. just a room, now, he guesses.

the desk is set up in the corner of it. chris likes to work at it while isaac lays in bed, the two of them quiet but together. chris' laptop is still here, so isaac aggressively taps a few random keys to wake it up. there isn't a password anymore. 

instead, a nearly empty document is open. isaac leans in, squints to read the single line:

_i had to go back. wait for me._

and in an instant isaac is alone once again.

**Author's Note:**

> find me @ lafortunadiablo on tumblr  
> requests are always open


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